











"\^, 



K^ "^ -^^ 



0^' 






J- 4 .-or Tri. " 








■'^t^ 0* 






. \-^>^ 



,v 







^~^t&. '^MX^ 



•,Q' 



9 • • y 






^^ 









.i4 









v.r» '^j 



^ -<« O 



OV a • • i- 




^ ^r, 



,.<^ 












.0^ ^"""-^ 



j>^' ..'., <^, 




■<r>. -o. 











!fr * S -^ 2^ V^ 




"o^ 










'^^^ 



.-^ 











'V'' "'f^ j^'i 











rc<;^^S_&v/. 



*,^^ 

-$ii^. 



^^ '-"^ 



3^ <"0 



°o. 



r '• Vo^' »'^j\ %/ a^: ^-c^ 






vV 



\^ 







%. ■'. 






6> ■^A 









.-a.'* 









'^ 





FRANCIS DRAKE 



SDrageDp of tlje ^ea 



S. WEIR MITCHELL, M. D., LL. D. Harv. 

AUTHOR OF "a psalm OF DEATHS," ETC 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK " / 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

1893 



V 



n 



Copyright, 1892, 
By S. weir MITCHELL. 

All rig/its reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Catnbridge, Mass., U. S.A. 
Electrotyped and Priuted by H. O. Houghton & Co. 



TO 

M. C. M. 



PREFACE 



The difficulty of realizing to-day the feelings 
and motives of tlie men of another era is well 
illustrated in the incidents on which I have 
based the dramatic poem of " Francis Drake." 
In the poetical telling of it I have adhered 
with reasonable fidelity to the somewhat varying 
statements given in " The World Encompassed" 
(1628), Hakluyt Society, No. 16 ; the extracts 
of evidence as to the trial of Doughty from the 
Harleian manuscripts, in the same volume ; Bar- 
row's life of Drake ; and an admirable but brief 
biography of the great sea-captain by Julius 
Corbett, in English Men of Action. I have had 
neither desire nor intention to make of this 
strange story an acting drama. Doughty, as he 
is drawn by Mr. Corbett, must have been, as he 
says, an lago of rare type. A scholar, a soldier, 
a gentleman of the Inner Temple, more or less 
learned in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, he seems 



vi PREFACE 

to have had great power to attract the affections 
of men. That he betrayed his friend's trust, 
and was guilty of mutiny, and even of con- 
templating darker crime, appears probable, al- 
though as to the details of this sad story we 
know little, but small fragments of the evidence 
given on the trial having been preserved. The 
historian, more than the poet, may well be per- 
plexed at the nobler characteristics which ap- 
pear in this singular being on the approach of 
death. It is here that the judgments of to-day 
fail us before the account of the quiet, cheer- 
ful talk^ at dinner while the headsman waits. 
An immense curiosity fills us as to what was 
said. Then, there is the sacrament taken with 
Drake, the final embrace, the remarkable words 
of quotation from Sir Thomas More,^ omitted 
in the play, and at last the axe and block. 

1 "They dined, also at the same table together, as cheer- 
fully in sobriety as ever in their lives they had done aforetime ; 
each cheering up the other, and, taking their leave, by drink- 
ing each to other, as if some journey only had been in hand." 
{World Encompassed, p. 67. Hakluyt Society's edition. ) 

2 Doughty is credited in one account of his death with say- 
ing to the executioner, when about to lay his head on the 
block, " As good Sir Thomas More said, ' I fear thou wilt 
have little honesty \i. e. credit] of so short a neck.' " 



PREFACE vii 

Except as to one anachronism, which I leave 
the critics to discover, the main events of this 
dramatic tale are on the whole historically cor- 
rect. It is likely that the part played in the 
poem by the chaplain would be justified, had 
we all the evidence. His disgrace later in the 
voyage throws light upon his conduct at the 
trial. It is worthy of note that there is no 
woman in this tragic story. 
Bar Harbor, 1892. 



FRANCIS DRAKE 

A Tragedy of the Sea 

Time, 1578. 

Off the coast of Patagonia. On hoard the Pelican., the Eliza- 
beth., and the Plymouth. 

DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
Francis Drake, Admiral. 

Thomas Doughty, his friend, a gentleman venturer. 
Francis Fletcher, Chaplain. 
John Winter, "] 

Leonard Vicary, > Captains. 
William Chester, J 
Seamen. 
Gentlemen. 



rEAN"OIS DEAKE 



Deck of the Elizabeth. Fleet in the offing. 
John Winter. Thomas Doughty. 
Doughty (coming ahoard). Good-morrow, 
Winter. Still the winds are foul. 
I would they blew from merry England shores. 
Winter. I would they had not blown you to 
my ship. 
None are more welcome elsewhere. Strict com- 
mands 
Forbid this visiting from ship to ship. 

Doughty. These orders are most wise, — I 
doubt not that ; 
Yet must I learn that any here afloat 
Is master of the gentlemen who venture 
Their ducats and their lives. Let him make laws 
To rule rough sailors ; they are not for us. 

Winter. Yet one must be the master. Ill it 
were 
If, drifting masterless, this little realm 



2 FBANCIS DRAKE 

Of tossing ships obeyed not one sure helm. 

I shall best serve you if I bid you go. 

Doughty. The Pelican is twice a league away. 

'T is time the several captains of the fleet 

Should learn how little mind the seamen have, 

Ay, and the gentlemen, to hold our course. 

Now, were we all of us of one firm mind. 

This cheating voyage should end, and that full 
soon. 

This in your ear. Did I dare speak of Leices- 
ter — [ Winter recoils. 
Winter. Have you a mind to lose us both 
our heads ? 

I would not ill report you, but your words 

Sail near to treason, both to Queen and friend. 

I understand you not. 

Doughty. Nor always I myself. 

I pray you but this once be patient with me. 

My actions shall not lack support in England. 

If I might dare say all, you best of any 

Woidd know the admiral has no better friend. 

The ships decay ; the sailors mutiny ; 

Before us lies a waste of unknown seas ; 

Methinks authority doth beget in men 

A certain madness. Think you if we chance 



FRANCIS DRAKE 3 

To ruin peaceful towns and scuttle ships, 
And rouse these Spanish hornets on their coasts, 
Think you the dearest counsellor of the Queen — 
I dare not name him — will be better pleased 
With him that hurts or him that helps this 
voyage ? 
Winter. I think your enterprise more peril- 
ous 
Than half a hundred voyages, good friend, — 
I pray you risk not losing of the name, 
For you are greatly changed from him I knew 
This some time past of gentle disposition ; 
In danger tranquil ; gay, and yet discreet ; 
Learned in the law, a scholar and a soldier. 
Doughty. An old-time nursery trick : comfits 
before, 
And after comes the dose ; then sweets again. 

Winter. Be not so hasty ; hear me to the end, 
And be my careful friendship early pardoned. 
I have heard you say of late you lack advance- 
ment. 
There is advancement no man need to lack 
Who makes his Duty like a mother's knees, 
Where all his prayers are said. This man you 
were. 



4 FRANCIS DRAKE 

What other man is this I hardly know : 
One that of all his natural endowments 
Makes but base use to stir the meaner sort, 
To darken counsel with a mist of words, 
To scatter falsehood, and to sow distrust ; 
And all as lightly as a housewife flings 
The morning grain amidst her cackling crew. 
Doughty. You have done well to ask my par- 
don first. 
Winter. Nay. I do hold the bond of friend- 
ship strong ; 
And he who wills to keep his friends must know 
To stomach that they lack. I would indeed 
You had not spoken as you have to-day. 

Doughty. What matters it ? My words are 

safe with you. 
Winter. Safe as my countenance will let 
them be ; 
Safe till the admiral asks, and, like a boy, 
I stand a-twiddliug of uneasy thumbs. 
On this foot, now, or that, red in the face. 
By Heaven! what fetched you on this hated voy- 
age? 
Doughty. A trick. A fetch indeed ! 
Winter. Nay, that 's not so. 



FRANCIS DBAKE 5 

Trick or no trick, this is not English earth, 
Nor Drake the man who on the Devon greens 
Sat half the night a-talking poesy. 
I have seen many men in angry moods, 
But this man's wrath is as the wrath of God, 
Instant and terrible. Pray you, be warned, 
And if your soul be capable of fear — 
Doughty. Fear ! 

Winter. Ay, a healthful virtue in its place. 
Had I been but the half as rash as you. 
My very sword would tremble in its sheath. 
Doughty. And yet I have no nearer friend 

than he. 
Winter. You judge men by their love, as 

maidens do. 
Doiighty. And not an ill way, either, as earth 
goes. 
The admiral in his less distracted times 
Hath some rare flavour of the woman in him. 
Winter. Oh, that 's the haK of him : no lady 
wronged, 
No pUlaged church, no hurt of unarmed man, 
Will stain his record at the great account. 
Have then a care. The gentle, just, and brave 
Are ill to anger. 



6 FBANCIS BRAKE 

Doughty. What I say to you 

I not less easily shall say to liini, 
Trusting the friendly equity of his love. 

Winter. A certain devil lurks in every angel, 
Else had there never been a strife in heaven. 
Now on my soul I wonder at the patience 
Which thiice has warned you as a brother 

might, 
And once removed you from a high command. 
'T is very strange to me how men may differ. 
No doubts have I ; along these savage coasts 
Magellan sailed. Are we not English born ? 

Doughty. I neither have forgotten nor forget. 
Thanks for your patience. There is more to 

say 
That might be said. 

Winter. I would it had been less. 

I think it well no other hears your words. 

Doughty. Oh, fear not I shall rashly squan- 
der speech. 
Winter. Spend not your thoughts at all. Be 
, miserly. 

These wooden walls have echoes ; to and fro 
Some wild word wanders, till, on each return. 
We less and less our own mind's children know. 



FEANCIS BRAKE 7 

All gold they say goes tlirough the devil's mint ; 
But words are very devils of themselves. 
I do commend you to a fast of speech. 
Doughty. It might be wise. 
Winter (walks to the rail}. Come, let us 
shift the talk. 
How huge and bloody red the moon to-night ! 
This utter quiet of the brooding sea 
I like not overwell ; nor yon red moon. 
So, there 's a breeze again, and now 't is still. 
We shall have storms to-morrow. 

Doughty. More 's the reason. 

Before our ships are scattered far and wide, 
That I should speak what others dare not speak. 
Winter. I '11 hear no more. My mother used 
to say 
That silence was a very Christian virtue. 
When I talk folly, be the Moon my friend ; 
There are no eavesdroppers among the stars. 
Doughty. Her sex they say are leaky coun- 
sellors ; 
And, too, she shares thy secrets with a man, 
Red i' the visage now. Here 's three to keep 
Thy pleasant indiscretions. 

Winter. Happy Moon ! 



8 FRANCIS BRAKE 

That ere a day is dead sliall England see. 
Ah, gentle dame, shine on our island homes ; 
Kiss for my sake a face as fair as thine ; 
Go tell our love to every maiden flower 
That droops tear-laden in our Devon woods. 
Douglity. I dreamed last night that never 
more again 
Should I see England. 

Winter. That 's as God may will. 

Doughty. God or the Devil ! 
Winter. Hush ! When night is come, 

And all the mighty spaces overhead 
And all this vast of sea lie motionless, 
God seems so near to me, ill deeds so far, 
That all my soul in gentled wonder bides. 

\_They are silent a time. 
Doughty. Mark how the southward splendour 
of the cross 
Shines peace upon us. When the nights are 

calm, 
I joy to climb the topmast's utmost peak, 
And, hanging breathless in the unpeopled void, 
!f^ote how the still deep answers star for star. 
Winter. See, the wind freshens. Get you to 
your ship. 



FBANCIS DRAKE 9 

Come not again. This seeming quiet sea 
Is not more dangerous than a man you know. 
Doughty. I shall not spare to think upon 
your words. 
My thanks, and pleasant dreams. Good-night. 
Winter. Good-night. 

\_Doughty goes to his boat. 



Cabin of Pelican. 
Drake. Vicary. Winter. 

Winter. It sorts not with my honour that I 

speak. 
Drake. Enough to know John Winter will 

not speak ; 
A cruel verdict is the just man's silence. 
I have been patient, but the end has come. 
What breeds these discontents? I know the 

man. 
Were he twin brother of my mother's womb 
He should not live to mar my Prince's venture. 
(Jb Vicary.^ Are you struck silent, like my 

good John Winter ? 
What substance is there in this mutinous talk ? 



10 FBANCIS DRAKE 

Vicary. Too little substance, not enough to 
eat ; 
Too mucli of parson, and some empty bellies. 
A very mutinous thing 's an empty paunch. 
Drake. Now here 's a man has never a plain 
answer. 
Out with it in good English. 

Vicary. As you will. 

I pray you pardon me my way of speech ; 
I cannot help it. I was born a-grinning, 
Or so my mother said. If death 's a jest, 
I doubt not I shall never die in earnest. 

Drake. Now on my soul this passes all en- 
durance ; 
Grin, if it please you, but at least speak out. 
Vicary. I never had as little mind to speak. 
Drake. I have heard you jesting with a Span- 
ish Don 
When sore beset and wellnigh spent with 

wounds. 
I think some counsel lies behind your mirth. 
Vicary. Were I the admiral I would preach 

a sermon. 
Drake. A sermon ! 
Vicary. Yea ! and that a yardarm long, 



FRANCIS BBAKE 11 

With master parson for sole auditor. 
Also good rum 's a very Christian diet, 
And vastly does console a shrunken belly. 

Drake (smiling^. Well, my gay jester, is 

there more to say ? 
Vicary. I have sometimes thought we carry 
on our ships 
Too large a freight of time. 

Drake. Talk plain again. 

It takes three questions to beget an answer. 
Vicary. Now, as the world lains, that 's un- 
natural many. 
Drake. I think you will not speak. 
Vicary. No, I 'm run dry. 

I am as barren as a widowed hen. 

Drake (laughing'). Out with you ! Go ! 
Vicary (aside). And none more glad to go. 

[Exit Vicary. 

Drake, One that must needs be taken in his 

humour. 
Winter. 'T is a strange disposition that hath 
mirth 
For what breeds tears in others. 

Drake. No, not strange. 

But I 've no jesting in my heart to-day. 



12 FRANCIS BBAKE 

The straits lie yonder, dark and perilous ; 
The Spaniards' villainies sit heavy here. 

[^Strikes his breast. 
Their racks are red with honest English blood ; 
The dead call " Come." Ah, Winter, by my soul, 
When Panama is ours, when their galleons lie 
Distressful wrecks, and England's banner flies 
Unquestioned on the far Pacific sea. 
Then — 

Winter. Is it so ? Runs your commission 
thus ? 

Drake. Once past the straits, and all shall 
know my errand. 
Here is the warrant of Her Majesty, 
And here the sword she bade me call her own. 

Winter. Did Doughty know of this ? 

Drake. Ay, from the first. 

Winter. A double treason. 
Drake. Counsel me, John Winter. 

The sailors murmur, and the gentlemen 
Sow quarrels and dissension through the fleet. 
My dearest friend betrays my dearest trust. 
What means this gay boy's chatter about time ? 

Winter. A riddle easily read, if you but 
think 
What use the devil has for idle hours. 



FBANCIS DEAEE 13 

Drake. I have long meant to make an end 
of that. 
Go tell these lazy gentles Francis Drake 
Bids them to haul and pull as sailors do ; 
Ay, let them reef and lay out on the yards. 
I '11 bid 'gainst Satan for their idleness. 
Belike they may not care to go aloft ; 
Then, on my word, I 've bilboes down alow. 
Winter. Thou wouldst not set a gentleman 

i' the stocks? 
Drake. Parson or gentle, let them try me 
not. 
'T is said a gibbet stands on yonder shore : 
There brave Magellan hanged a mutinous Don. 
Let them look to it. See I be obeyed. 
None shall be favoured. Fetch me now aboard 
This traitor Doughty, and no words with him. 
Winter. Ay, ay, sir. 

Drake. Go. Let there be no delay. 

[Winter in his hoat beside the Plymouth. 

Doughty (^descending'). What means this 

summons ? 
Winter. Hush ! I may not speak. 

Give way there, men. (^To Doughty.) Have 

you your tablets with you ? 

[Takes them and writes. 



14 FEANCIS DRAKE 

"Take care. Be warned. The devil is broke 
loose." 
Doughty. Is it so ? Why am I bidden ? 
Winter. Way there, men ! 

Doughty. Will you not answer me ? 
Winter. Not I, indeed. 

Way there, enough ! Ho, there, aboard ! 

[^Doughty goes aboard the Pelican. 

Doughty. Good-night. 

Deck of Pelican. 
Doughty. Fletcher. 

Fletcher. I think there is some mischief in 
the air. 
'T is said the admiral has sent for you. 

Doughty. I 'm haled aboard with no more 
courtesy 
Than any meanest ruffian of the crew. 
Were I in England he should answer me. 
Fletcher. This is not England. 
Doughty. Oh, by heaven ! no ! 

(^Aside.') Time must be won. I 've been a loi- 
tering fool. 
(^Aloud.') I would that I could clear my mind 
to you. 



FRANCIS DRAKE 15 

Fletcher. Why not to me ? What other is 
so fit ? 
Is not confession like an act of nature ? 

Doughty. I am like a wine thick with con- 
fusing lees. 
To-day they settle, and to-morrow morn 
Another shakes me, and I 'm thick again. 

[Fletcher watches him. Both are silent /or a moment. 
Thou art both man and priest. 

Fletcher. Add friend to both. 

Doughty. You said, most reverend sir, both 
man and priest. 
Had you been more of man, yet all of priest, 
Confession had been easier. 

Fletcher. More of man ! 

Grant you I lack the courage of the sea, 
Think you it takes none to be now your friend ? 
I have the will, ay, and the resolution. 
To help you where I think you most need help. 
I guess the half your lips delay to tell. 

Doughty (loohing about him). Enough. 
Time passes, and you should know all. 
My Lord of Burleigh much mislikes this voy- 
age. 
Who helps to ruin it will no loser be. 



16 FEANCIS BRAKE 

Had I but known this ere my florins went 
To aid a foolish venture ! 

Fletcher. But the Queen — 

Doughty. Hath ever had two minds, as is her 
way. 
(^Points north.') Now there advancement lies. 
(^Points south.) And that way death. 
Fletcher. Thou art in the service of my Lord 
of Burleigh? 
Not more than thou am I the admiral's man. 
Doughty. And I am no man's man ; I am 
the Queen's. 
I shall best serve my God in serving her. 
Shall it be Prince or friend ? I may not both. 
Fletcher. Is he thy friend ? 
Doughty. Of late I doubt it much. 

Now hath he closer counsellors than I. 

Fletcher. He loves thee not. This ill-ad- 
vised voyage 
Goes to disaster in these unknown seas 
Where some foul devil led the sons of Rome. 
I have heard that demons lit them down the 

coast. 
This nine and fifty years no Christian sail 
Has gone this deathful way. The admiral 



FEANCIS DRAKE 17 

Knows not the sullen temper of the fleet. 
(^Loohs at Doughty steadily.') There should be 

one — a friend — to bid him turn 
And set our prows toward England. Think 
upon it. 
Doughty. But who shall bell the cat ? What 

mouse among us ? 
Fletcher. If but we English mice were of 

one mind ! 
Doughty. Soon shall we be so. You have 
unawares 
Made firm my purpose. 'T is not in thy kind 
To court such peril as our talk may bring. 
The more for this have you my thanks. 

Enough. 
The counsel you have given — 

Fletcher (alcvrmed). I gave you none. 

Doughty. Oh, rest you easy. It is safe with 
me. 
As you are priest, so I am gentleman ; 
Now in the end it comes to much the same. 

Enler Chester. 

Chester (to Doughty). The admiral would 
see you instantly. [Exit. 



18 FRANCIS DBAEE 

Cabin of Pelican. 

Drake. I could wish tliis man had been less 
dear to me. 
Another I had long since crushed. The rat 
Which gnaws the planks between our lives and 

death 
I had as lightly dealt with. For love's sake 
And all the honest past that has been ours 
Once shall I speak. Ay, once ! \A ^^^ck. 

Ho, there. Come in. 

Enter Chester and Doughty. 

Chester. The land lies low to westward, and 
the wind 
Blows fair and steady. {Drake looks at the chart. 

Drake. Ay, St. Julian's isle. 

{Exit Chester. 

{To Doughty.') Pray you be seated. 

Doughty. I am ordered hither. 

'T were fit I stand. 

Drake. Yes, I am admiral ; 

But there are moments in the lives of all 
When the stern conscience of a too great office 
Appals the kindlier heart that fain would be 



FBANCIS BRAKE 19 

Where indecisions breed less consequence. 

I said, be seated. \_Doughty obeys. 

Are you not my friend ? 
Forget these rolling seas, the time, the place, 
This mighty errand which my Prince has sped. 
Think me to-day but simple Francis Drake, 
And be yourself the brother of my heart. 

Doughty. There spoke the old Frank Drake 
I seemed to lose. 

Drake. Let us try back. We are like ill- 
broken dogs. 
Our lives have lost the scent. 

Doughty. Nay, think not so. 

Drake. Ah, once I had a friend, a scholar 
wise, 
A soldier, and a poet ; dowered, I think, 
With all the gentle gifts that win men's hearts. 
Of late he seems another than himseK ; 
Of late he is most changed, and him I knew 
Is here no more. Ah, but I too am double. 
And one of me is still thy nearest friend. 
And one, ah, one is admiral of the fleet. 
Let him that loves you whisper to your soul 
The thing he would not say. You understand. 
Ah, now you smile. A pretty turn of phrase 



20 FRANCIS BRAKE 

Did ever capture you. 'T was always thus. 
We have seen death so often, eye to eye, 
That fear of death were idle argument ; 
Yet in such words of yours as men report 
A deathful sentence lurks. Oh, cast away 
These mad temptations, won I know not whence. 
Last night I fell to thinking, ere I slept, 
Of those proud histories of older days 
You loved to tell amid the tents in Ireland. 
Trust me, no one of these that shall not fade 
Before the wonder of tliis English tale 
Of what El Draco and his captains did. 
And when, at twilight, by our Devon hearths 
Some old man tells the story, shall he pause. 
And say. But one there was, of England born. 
That sowed the way with perils not of God, 
Breeding dissension, casting on his name 
Dishonour — 

Doughty (leaping up). Now, by heaven ! no 
man shall say — 

Drake (smiling and quiet^ puts a hand on 
j each shoulder of Doughty). Hush! you 

will waken up that other man. 
Read not my meaning wrong. I am sore beset. 
Before me lie dark days. The timid shrink ; 



FRANCIS DRAKE 21 

The gentlemen, who should have been my stay, 
Fall from me useless. Yet, come what come 

may, 
For England's glory and my lady's grace, 
I go my way. Well did he speak who said, 
" Heaven is as near by water as by land." 
And therefore, whether it be death or fame 
That waits in yonder seas, I go my way. 
Yet, if I lose you on this venturous road. 
Half the proud joy of victory were gone. 
I have been long ; you, patient. Rest we here. 
Doughty. Yes, I am more than one man ; 
more 's the pity. 
If I have sinned, forgive me, and good-night. 
Drake. Thou shalt stay with me on the Pel- 
ican. 
Doughty (aside). So, so. A child in ward I 
(Aloud.') Again, good-night. lExit. 

Enter ViCARY. 

Vicary. The water shoals. A land lies west 
by south. 
There seems good anchorage in the island's lee. 
Drake. We shall find water here, good fruit 
and fish. 



22 FEANCIS DEAKE 

Send in a boat for soundings. Signal all 
To anchor where seems best ; and Vicary, 
Set thy gay humour to some thoughtful care 
Of him that left just now. I hold him dear. 
Vicary. I would to heaven he were safe in 

England. 
Drake. And I, and I. He is more like a 
child 
Than any man my life's experience knows. 
Yet he is dangerous to himself and us : 
Too fond of speech ; too cunning with the 

tongue, 
That tempts to mischief like a sharpened blade. 
Vicary. Ah, words! words! words! Ye 
children of the fiend, 
On all your generated repetitions 
Are visited your parents' wickedness. 
He keeps boon company with each man's hu- 
mour, 
Is gay with me, is chivalrous with you, 
At Winter's side a grave philosopher. 
I shall set merry sentinels for his guards. 
And there my wisdom ends. 

Drake. My thanks. No more. 

{lixii Vicary. 



FEANCIS DRAKE 23 

Deck of Pelican. Ships at anchor near the north 
end of the island. 

Doughty. Winter. Seamen. 

Winter. These are my orders. 

Doughty. I may not to shore, 

And for the reason ? Drake shall give it me. 
{Turns to the men.') I hear there is no water 
on these shores. 

Ist Sailor. That in the casks is but mere 
mnd of vileness ; rot in the mouth, and stenches 
in the nose. 

2d Sailor. And for the biscuits, they are 
mouldy green, and inhabited like an owl's nest 
with all manner of live things. 

3f? Sailor. It will be worse in the lower seas. 
There the men are eleven cubits tall. 

2cZ Sailor. Nay, feet, and that 's enough. 

4ith Sailor. Where scurvy Dons have gone, 
good English may. 

Doughty. We gentles are no better off than 
you. 
Here is an order we shall pull and haul, 
And lay aloft. What ! Lack ye meat to-day ? 



24 FEANCIS BBAKE 

Here are grubs to spare. These cavemed bis- 
cuits bold 
Small beeves in plenty. Here 's more life, I 

think, 
Than we are like to find on yonder coast. 

1st Sailor. A Portugee did tell me once 
there was no day in the straits where we must 
sail, and all the sea be full of veuomed snakes. 

Doughty. ^ay. That 's a foolish fable. 
True it is that in the straits are mighty isles of 
ice, with sail and mast. They beat about, men 
say, like luggers on a wind, and never man to 
handle rope or sail. 

Fletcher. The boats are come again, and no 
water, none ! Alas, this miserable voyage ! 

Enter Yicaky from boat. 

Vicary. Not so, good chaplain. Underneath 
a cliff 
I found a spring as sweet as England's best. 
Good store of shellfish too, and these strange 

, fruits. 

(^To Doughty.') You 're but an old -wife at 
these fireside tales. Lord, lads ! there 's won- 
ders yonder. It is twice as good as a fair in 



FRANCIS DRAKE 25 

May. There is a merry-go-round that 's called 
a swirlpool. Round you go, a hundred years, 
ship and all, not a farthing to pay, and then 
home to bed, with addled pates, as good as 
drunk, and no man the poorer. [.The men laugh. 

1st /Sailor (ciside). He do lie to beat a rusty 
weathercock. 

2d Sailor. But men do say there 's hell-traps 
set along the rocks, and all the waters boil like 
witch's pots. 

Vicary (^laughs'). The tale is gone awiy. 
When last I sailed this way, no fire would burn, 
and all the little fiends were harvesting of mighty 
icicles to keep the daddy devils from frosted toes. 

1st Sailor (aside^. He be a lively liar. He 
be a very flea among liars. [-4^^ laugh. 

Vicary. The seas be rum, and all the whales 
mad drunk. [_LaugMer. 

I thought my laughter trap was baited well. 

Uh Sailor (aside'). He don't starve his lies. 
A very pretty liar. His lies be fat as ever a 
Christmas hog. 

Vicary. Tom Doughty, 1 '11 match lies with 
you, my lad, 
The longest day of June. A song, a song ! 



26 FRANCIS BRAKE 

Sailors. A song, a song ! Tlie captain for 
a song ! 
That song the captain made the day we sailed 
From Cadiz road, and left their fleet ablaze. 
Vicary. Here 's for a song. The admiral 
bids say 
Your rum is doubled for a week to come. 
So here we go. Be hearty with the burden. 

SONG. 

Queen Bess has three bad boys, 

Such naughty boys ! 
They sailed away to Cadiz bay 
To make a mighty noise. 
Heave her round ! 
Heave her round ! 
Such bad boys ! 
Yo ho ! 

There 's wicked Master Drake, 
( As likes to play with guns ; 

He sailed away to Cadiz bay 
To wake the sleepy Dons. 

Heave her round ! etc. 



FRANCIS DRAKE 27 

These be three captains small, 
None taller than a splinter. 
One does admire to play with fire, 
That 's little Jaeky Winter. 
Heave her round ! etc. 

There 's one does love to fight, 
It might be Billy Chester. 
And they 're away to Cadiz bay 
Before a stiff sou'-wester. 

Heave her round ! etc. 

Don Spaniard sings, Avast ! 
What 's doing with them grapples ? 
We 're just Queen Bess's naughty boys, 
We 're only stealing apples. 
Heave her round ! etc. 

They filled their little stomachs, 
They had a pretty frolic. 
The boys as ate the apples up 
Was n't them as had the colic. 
Heave her round ! ete. 

Small Frank, he shot his gun, 
And Willy played with fire. 



28 FBANCIS DRAKE 

To see those naughty boys again 
No Spaniard do desire. 

Heave her round ! etc. 

Vicary. Well tuned, my lads. Now who of 

you 's for shore ? 
Doughty (aside to a mate). There '11 be no 

songs down yonder. 
Winter (leaning over him'). What, again? 
More mischief, ever more ? Dark is the sea 
Where you will sail. What fiend possesses you ? 
This in your ear. The priest is no man's friend. 
If I do know the malady of baseness, 
There 's one that needs a doctor. 

Doughty. You are wrong. 

I have no better friend, none more assured. 
Wi7iter. Indeed, I think you are too rich in 
friends. 
Better you had a hundred eager foes 
Than this man's friendly company. One step 

more. 
One slight excess of speech, some word retold, — 
And thou art lost to life. 

Doughty. He dare not do it ! 

Winter. Dare not! I think it oft doth 
chance a man 



FBANCIS DRAKE 29 

Knows not Ms nearest friend as others do. 
As for thy priest, — I greatly fear a coward. 
The day will come when honest Francis Drake 
Will shake all secrets from him as a dog 
Shakes out a rat's mean life. Beware the day ! 
Well do I know the admiral's silent mood ; 
Then should men fear hmi, and none more than 

you, 
Because he dreads the comisel of his heart. 

{Exit both. 

Deck of the Pelican. Evening, a week later. Tlie 
fleet at anchor near the south end of the island 
of St. Julian. Sailors at the capstan. 

Winter. Now, then, to warp her in. Round 
with the capstan. 
Sailors and gentlemen, bear all a hand ! 

Doughty. Not I, by heaven ! Not I ! My 
father's son 
Stains not his sword-hand with this peasant toil. 
Gentlemen. Nor I ! nor I ! nay, never one 

of us. 
Winter. Do as I bid you ! 
Doughty. Not a hand of mine 

Shall to this sailor work. 



30 FRANCIS DRAKE 

Winter. That shall we see. 

[ Walks to the cabin. Boatswain whistles. Men man 
the capstan, singing. 

Yo ho ! Heave ho ! 

Oh, it 's ingots and doubloons, 

Oh, it 's diamonds big as moons, 

As we sail, 

As we sail. 

Yo ho ! Heave ho ! 

Oh, it 's rusty, crusty Dons, 
And it 's rubies big as suns, 
As we sail, etc. 

Oh, it 's pieces by the scores. 
And it 's jolly red moidores. 
As we sail, etc. 

Oh, we '11 singe King Philip's beard. 
And no man here afeard. 

As we sail, etc. 

I 

Enter Vicary. 

Vicary. Well simg. Well hauled, my lads. 
( To Doughty. y A word with you. 



FRANCIS DRAKE 31 

You will attend the admiral in his cabin. 
(^Aside to Doughty.') Ware cat, good mouse ! 

The claws are out to-night ! 
Doughty. 'T were better soon than later. 

After you. [^Ex'u. 

Cabin of Pelican. 

Drake. Winter, 

Enter Vicary, followed by Doughty. 

Drake. Pray you be seated. ( To Doughty.) 
Nay, not you, not you. 
( Jb Winter.') Arrest this gentleman. 

Winter. Your sword, an 't please you. 

[Receives it. 

Drake. I charge you here with treason to 
the Queen. 
You shall to trial with no long delay. 

Doughty. What court is this with which you 

threaten me ? 
Drake. Now, by St. George, your lawyer 
tricks and quibbles 
Shall help you little. I am Francis Drake, 
The Queen's plain sailor, and the master here. 
Doughty. Master ! 



32 FEANCIS BBAKE 

Drake. Ay, master ! Traitor to the Queen, 
This long account is closed. All, aU is known, 
Since when, at Plymouth, on the eve we sailed. 
My Lord of Burleigh bought you; what the 

price. 
The devil knows — and you. 

Doughty. My Lord of Burleigh ! 

I pray you speak of this with me alone. 
What I would say is for a secret ear. 
Drake. No, by my sword, not I ! 
Doughty. Then have thy way. 

No law can touch me here. This is not Eng- 
land. 
Drake. Where sails a plank in English for- 
ests hewn. 
There England is. This deck is England now, 
And I a sea-king of this much of England. 
Put me this man in irons ! See to it ! 
Let him have speech of none except yourselves. 

lExit Winter and Doughty. 
(JIo Vicary.^ I have too long delayed. 
! Vicary. That may weU be. 

Drake. I hear he hath great favour with the 
crews, 
A maker of more mischief than I guessed. 



FRANCIS DRAKE 33 

Vicary. Men love him well. 
Drake. He liatli too many friends. 

This is the very harlotry of friendship. 
Go now, and pray that when command is yours 
You have no friends. See that strict guard be 
kept. {Exit Vicary. 

(^Alone.^ I would that God had spared me 
this one hour. 

Pelican. Doughty in irons on the deck, seated upon 
a coil of ropes, leaning against a mast. 

Winter (to the guards). Back there, my 

men ! 
Doughty. You are most welcome, Winter. 
I am very glad of company. My soid 
Is sick to surfeit of its own dull thoughts. 
I like not lonely hours. What laud is that ? 
Winter. St. Julian's cape. 
Doughty. Is that a cross I see ? 

It seems, I think, the handiwork of man. 

Winter. No cross is that ; there stout Magel- 
lan hanged 
Don Carthagene, vice-admiral of his fleet. 

Doughty. Wherefore ? 



34 FBANCIS DRAKE 

Winter. 'T is said he did dislike tlie voyage, 
And liad no mind to pass the narrow straits. 
Doughty, The strait he chose was narrower ; 
mayhap 
He had no choice — as I may not to-morrow. 

[is silent a few moments. 

A little while ago, the scent of flowers 

Came from the land. Their nimble fragrance 

woke. 
As by a charm, some sleeping memories. 
I dreamed myself again a fair-haired boy, 
A-gathering cowslips in my mother's fields. 

[Pauses. 

There is no order that I shall not sing ; 
I can no mighty treason set to song. 

Winter. Sing, if it please you. I '11 be glad 
it doth. 
What song shall 't be ? 

Doughty, Ah me, those Devon lanes ! 

\_Sings. 

SONG. 

I would I were an English rose, 
In England for to be ; 
The sweetest maid that Devon knows 
Should pick, and carry me. 



FRANCIS DRAKE 35 

To pluck my leaves be tender quick, 

A fortune fair to prove, 

And count in love's arithmetic 

Thy pretty sum of love. 

l_The men come nearer. 

Oh, Devon's lanes be green o'ergrown. 
And blithe her maidens be. 
But there be some that walk alone, 
And look across the sea. 

1st Sailor. 'T is a sad shame so gay a gen- 
tleman 
Should lie in irons. 

2d Sailor. Ay, the pity of it. 

Winter (to the men). Off with you there I 
(To Doughty.) The devil's in your 
tongue ! 
Why must you sing of England ? Follow me. 
I think you would breed mutiny in heaven. 

{Exit. 
Cabin of Pelican. 

Drake. Enter Fletcher. 

Fletcher. I am come as bidden. What may 
be your will ? 

Drake. Think you a man may serve two mas- 
ters ? 



36 FBANCIS DBAKE 

Fletcher. Nay, 

'T is not so writ. 

Drake. Yet there are some I know 

Would have me serve a dozen, and my Queen. 
Shall I serve this man's doubt, and that man's 

fear? 
Who bade these cowards follow me to sea ? 
And you, that are Christ's captain, — what of 

you? 
Were I a man vowed wholly unto God, 
I should have courage both of God and man ; 
And fear 's a malady of swift infection. 

Fletcher. I think my captain has been ill in- 
formed. 
Drake. Ah, not so ill. Look at me, in the 
face ; 
A man's eyes may rest honest, though his soul 
Be deeper damned than Judas. Thou art false ! 
False to thy faith, thy duty, and thy Prince ! 
Now, if thou hast no righteous fear of God — 
By heaven ! here stands a man you well may fear. 
j Fletcher. Indeed I know not how I 've an- 
gered you. 
Drake. Thou shalt know soon. And — look 
not yet away — 



FRANCIS DRAKE 37 

You liave batched treason with the larger help 
Of one that hath more courage. Spare him 

not 
If you have hope to see another day. 
What of your plans? I charge you, sir, be 

frank. 
What has he told that you should fear to tell? 

Fletcher. We did but talk. Haply I may 
have said 
I do not love the sea, that some aboard 
Woidd be well pleased to stand on English soil. 

Drake. If you have any wisdom of this 
world, 
A coward heart may save a foolish head. 
I asked you what this coward Doughty said ; 
You answer me with babble of yourself. 
Speak out, or, by my honour, — no light oath, — 
I shall so score you with the boatswain's lash 
That Joseph's coat shaU be a mock to yours. 

Fletcher. You would not — dare — 

Drake. I think you know me not. 

You have my orders. Is it yes, or no ? 

Fletcher. I pray you, sir, consider what you 
ask. 
No priest of God may, without deadly sin. 



38 FBANCIS DRAKE 

Speak wliat iu penitence a troubled soul 
Has in confession whispered. Ask me not. 

Drake. If I do understand your words aright, 
Save for the idle talk of idle men, 
He hath said nought to you except of sin 
Such as the best may in an hour of shame 
Tell for the soul's relief. If this be so, 
Nor I, nor any man, may question you. 

Fletcher. I do assure you that I spoke the 

truth. 
Drake {perplexed, walks to and fro. Turns 
suddenly, offering the hilt of his sword}. 
Swear it upon the cross-hilt of my sword. 
Swear ! [_Fletcher hesitates. 

As my God is dear, thou art more false 
Than heU's worst devil. Ho ! Without there ! 
Ho! 
Fletcher. Nay, I will swear. 
Drake. Too late. Without there ! Ho ! 

Send me the boatswain's mate. Without there ! 

Ho! 
If I confess thee not, thou lying priest. 
May I die old, — die quiet in my bed. 
Ho there ! And quick ! 

Fletcher. I pray you — let me think. 



FEANCIS DRAKE 39 

It may be that I did not understand. 
It might be that he talked to me, a man, 
As man to man. I think 't was even so. 
Drake. Out with it — quickly ! Speak ! Out ! 
Out with it ! 

Fletcher. I think he said the purpose of this 
voyage 
Was hid, and all of us are cheated men. 
It seems he said that if the gentles here 
Were of one mind, and stirred the crews to act, 
We might see England and our homes again. 

Drake. What more? 

Fletcher. As who should take to bell the cat 
As that the Queen your errand did not guess. 

Drake. So ! Said he that ? Go on ; thy 
tale lacks wit. 

Fletcher. Also, that storms and vexing winds 
and currents 
Did show God's will. 

Drake. I think you trifle with me. 

Did he talk ever of my Lord of Burleigh ? 

Fletcher. I fear to speak. 

Drake. Fear rather to be silent. 

Here lies the warrant of her Majesty : 
'T is she, not I, commands. 



40 FRANCIS BBAKE 

Fletcher, He seemed to say 

They would best serve my Lord of Burleigh's 

wish 
Who marred this venture, ere the power of 

Spain 
Was roused to open war. I can no more. 

Drake. See that your memory fail not on the 
morrow ! 
Go thank the devil in your prayers to-night 
For that your skin is whole. Begone ! Begone ! 

\Exit Fletcher. 
Now know I what it costs a woman-prince 
To keep her realm. The great should have no 
friends. 

Enter Vicary, Winter, and Chester. 

Drake. CaU all the captains and the officers. 
The court shall meet to-morrow morn, at eight. 
There shall he charges ready in due form ; 
You, all of you, shall hear the witnesses. 
And, Winter, — we are far from England now, — 
See that- this trial be in all things fair. 
As though each man of you, an ermined judge. 
Sat in Westminster. Let no words of mine 
Disturb the equities of patient judgment. 



FBANCIS DBAKE 41 

I would not that, when you and I are old, 

Uneasy memories of too hasty action 

Should haunt us with reproach. But have a 

care. 
My duty knows no friend ; be thine as ignorant. 
Our fortunes and the honour of the Queen — 
I should have said her honour and our for- 
tunes — 
Eest in your hands. See that my words be 
known. 
Winter, To all? 

Drake. To all, sailors and gentlemen. 

\Mxit the captains. 

Winter, Vicary, and Chester without. 

Chester. I'm like a child that fain would 
run away 
To 'scape a whipping. 

Winter. There are none of us 

More sore at heart than Drake. 

Vicary. I know of one. 

I would a friend were dead ere break of day. 
And all to-morrow's story left untold. 
I think that I shall never laugh again. 

l^They reach the deck. 



42 FBANCIS BRAKE 

Chester ^pointing to the gihhet on the shore'). 

It may be yon long-memoried counsellor 
Made hard the admiral's heart. 

Vicar]/. That might be so. 

I wandered thither, yesterday, at eve. 
And found a skull. Didst ever notice, Win- 
ter, 
How this least mortal relic of a man 
Does seem to smile? Hast ever talked with 

skulls ? 
They are coiu^teous ever, and good listeners. 
And never one of them, or man or maid, 
That is not secret. There 's another virtue ; 
For what more honest and more chaste than 

death ? 
Now, then, this skull, that grins an hundred 

years, — 
Pray think how mighty must the jest have 

been; 
And then, how transient are our Kving smiles. 
Winter. Ill-omened talk. A graver business 

waits. 
Vicary. Give me an hour. I am not well 
to-day. 
I will be with you very presently. [Exit Vicary. 



FRANCIS DRAKE 43 

Evening of the day of the trial and condemnation 
of Doughty. Time, sunset. Ashore on St. Ju- 
lian's Island. 

Winter. Vicary. Drake. 

Drake walking to and fro under the trees. 

Winter (coming up and walking beside him). 

What orders are there ? 
Drahe. See the prisoner, 

And bid him choose the hour and the day. 

Winter. And for the manner of the execu- 
tion ? 
The court said nothing ; sir, it lies with you. 
What is your pleasure ? 

Drahe. Say my will, John Winter. 

The gallows and the rope ! 

Vicary (approaching'). Must it be so? 
That is a dog's death, not a gentleman's. 
Drake. I have at home a very honest dog. 
Vicary. Wilt pardon me if once again I 

plead ? 
Drake. Plead not with me. No plea the 
heart can bring 
My own heart fails to urge. 



44 FBANCIS BRAKE 

Winter. I made no plea. 

Tlie man I loved, tliis morn for me was dead. 
But there are tliose in England — far away — 
Mother and sister — 

Drake. Sir, you have my orders ! 

Henceforth no friends for me ! This traitor dies, 
As traitors all should die, a traitor's death. 
The man's life judges him, not you, nor I. 

Yicary. Indeed, the manner of a man's de- 
parture, 
Whether upon a war-horse or an ass. 
Doth little matter, as it seems to me. 
If those he leaves feel not the fashion of it. 
Now, many a year that rope will throttle me, 
Who am no traitor, and who like not well 
What treachery this man's nature moved him to. 

Drake. It seems to me that good men's lives 
are spent 
In paying debts another makes for them. 
I have my share. Take you your portion, too. 
Be just, I pray you, both to him and me. 
Now, here 's a man that was my closest friend. 
In Plymouth, ay, in London, ere we sailed. 
Against the pledge myself had given the Queen, 
He told the purpose of my voyage to Burleigh, 



FRANCIS BBAKE 45 

Pledging Mmself to wreck this enterprise, 
Lest we should rouse these Spanish curs to bite. 
That I do hold the warrant of the Queen 
Only this traitor knew, and, knowing it, 
Has set himseK to brewing discontent, 
Stirred mutiny amidst my crews, cast wide 
The seed of discord, till obedience, 
That is the feather on the shaft of duty, 
Failed, and my very captains questioned me. 
One man must die, or this great venture dies ; 
This man must die, or we go backward home, 
Like mongrel dogs that fear a shaken stick. 
Winter. Yet none of us have asked his life 

of you. 
Drake. I ask it of myself ; shall ask it, sir, 
Knowing how vain and pitiful my plea. 
I have said nothing of the darker charge, 
The covert hints, the whispering here and there 
Of how my death might please my Lord of Bur- 
leigh, 
And settle all these mutinous debates. 
I think 't was but an idle use of speech ; 
I think he meant not it should come to aught. 
Winter. Nor I. 

Vicary. Nor I. He hath confessed to all 
Except this single charge. That he denied. 



46 FBANCIS DRAKE 

Drake. And now no more ! And hope not I 
shall change. 
Yet will I well consider all your words. 
Rest you assured if there be any way 
That both secures the safety of this voyage 
And leaves this man to future punishment, 
I shall not miss to find it. 

Winter. That were well. 

I somewhat fear the temper of the men. 
And these grave statesmen, closeted at home, 
Have slight indulgence for the sterner needs 
That whip us into what seems rash or cruel. 

Drake. Ah, many a day 'twist us and Eng- 
land lies, 
And the peacemaker's blessing rests on time. 
If death await me in the distant seas, 
I shall not fear to meet a higher Judge. 
If fortune smile upon our happy voyage. 
No man in England that will dare to say 
I served not well my country and my God ; 
The Queen will guard my honour as her own. 
But, come what may, sirs, I shall act unmoved 
By any dread of what the great may do. 
Though we should prick this sullen Spain to 
war. 



FBAJSfCIS DRAKE 47 

Vicary. Now, by St. George, could we but 

stir the Dons 
To open figbt ! The Queen bas many minds, 
But when the blades are out, and Philip strikes. 
As strike he will, these wary counsellors 
Will lose her ear amid the clash of swords. 
Drake. Pray God that I do live to see the 

day 
When all the might of England takes the sea, 
And we, that are the falcons of the deep, 
Shall tear these cruel vultures, till our beaks 
Drip red with Spanish blood ! 

Vicary. May I be there ! 

Drake (^gi'avely'). Trust me, we all shall live 

to see that hour. 
God gives us moments when the years to come 
Lie easily open like a much-read book. 
Oppressed with weight of care, in these last 

days 
I have seemed to see beyond this bitter time. 
We shall so carry us in yon Eome-locked seas 
That all the heart of England shall be glad, 
And the brown mothers of these priest-led Dons 
Shall scare unruly children with my name. 
And then, and then, I see a nobler hour. 



48 FBANCIS DRAKE 

A day of mightier battle, wlien their fleets 
Shall fly in terror from our English guns, 
And through the long hereafter we shall sail 
Unquestioned lords of all the watery waste. 
Oh, 't was a noble dream ! 

Vicary. But what were life 

Without the splendid prophecy of dreams ? 

Drake. At least, a moment they have given 
release 
From sadder thoughts of that which has to be. 
The night is falling. Get we now aboard. 
To-morrow you shall have my final judgment. 

A cabin in the Pelican. Early morning. The day 
after the trial and condemnation of Doughty. 

Doughty. Enter Winter. 

Doughty. Is there an hour set? When shall 

it be? 
Winter. That rests with you. Alas, too well 
you know 
That, being charged with certain grave offences, 
Of which, to our great grief, you are not cleared. 
The court decreed your death. Now, I am come 
To offer you thus much of grace — 



FRANCIS DRAKE 49 

Doughty. As what ? 

Winter. Either to be at morning left ashore. 
Or to be held till, at convenient time, 
A ship may carry you to England, there 
To answer for your deeds the Lords in Council ; 
Or will you take to be here done to death 
As runs our sentence ? 

Doughty. Would I had no choice. 

That 's a strange riddle ! Here be caskets 

three. 
'T is like the story in the Venice tale. 
Thank Francis Drake for me. I '11 think 

upon it. 
And send me Leonard Vicary with good speed. 
Winter. Is there aught else a man may do 

for you ? 
Doughty. Yes, come no more until I send for 

you. 
Winter. Have I in anything offended you? 
Doughty. No, thou hast too much loved me ; 
that is all. 
The sting lies there. 

Winter. I do not understand. 

Doughty. And I too well. Wilt send me 
Vicary? 



50 FRANCIS BRAKE 

Winter (jaside). As strange a monitor for a 
mortal hour 
As e'er a sick life's fancy hit upon. [Exit. 

Doughty (alone). This is a sad disguise of 
clemency. 
Death seemed a natural and a safe conclusion. 
As one serenely bound upon a voyage, 
I had turned my back on all I did hold dear, 
And looked no more to land. I think, indeed, 
Almost the very touch and sound of life 
Seemed fading, as when sleep comes whole- 
somely. 
Now I am in the wakened world again, 
And all the blissful company of youth. 
Love, friendship, hope, the mere esteem of men, 
Beckon, and mock me like to sunlit fields 
Seen from the wave-crests where a swimmer 

strives, 
Struck hither, thither, by uneasy seas. 
Christ to my help ! Ah, counsel always best. 

How should I bide upon these heathen shores ? 
Knowing how frail I be, how strong a thing 
Is the contagion of base men's customs. 
Alas ! alas ! I ever have been one 



FBANCIS DRAKE 51 

That wore the colour of the hour's friend. 
What ! risk my soul, that hath an endless date, 
For days or years of life ? That may not be. 

What ! home to England ? I, a tainted man ; 
That 's the gold casket where temptation lies. 
There is no unconsidered blade of grass, 
No little daisy, and no violet brief. 
That does not hurt me with its sweet appeal. 

[ Walks to and fro. 

I mind me of an evening — O my God ! 

No ! That way anguish waits. I '11 none of 

that. 
Twice, in my dreams last night, I saw her come ; 
And twice she cried, " First honour, and then 

love ! " 
And came no more. O Jesu, hear my prayer, 
And let me never in that other world 
Meet the sad verdict of those troubled eyes 
I kissed to tears the day we sailed away. 

Enter Vicary. 
You are most welcome ; sit beside me here. 
I have found my sentence in a woman's eyes. 
Vicary. I understand. 



52 FRANCIS BRAKE 

Doughty. How ever apt you are ! 

That took my fancy always. Now, it saves 
The turning of a dagger in a wound. 
I have chosen death. 

Vicary. And chosen well, I think. 

There was not one of us that said not so ; 
Not one but wishes life were possible. 

DougJity. Set that aside. It is not possi- 
ble. 
And put no strain upon your natural self 
To be another than the man you are. 
Do you remember once a thing you said, — 
How for the wise the soul has chapels four ? 
One, that I name not. One, a home of tears. 
One, the grave shrine of high philosophy. 
And one, where all the saints are jesters gay. 
Smile on me when I die. In that dim world 
I am assured men laugh, as well they may. 
To see this ant-heap stirred. Oh, I shall look 
To see you smile. 

Vicary. I pray you talk not thus. 

Doughty. And wherefore not ? A moment, 
only one. 
The thought of England troubled my decision ; 
But that is over. Yet, a word of home. 



FEANCIS BRAKE 53 

There is a maid in Devon — (Hesitates.') Par- 
don me. 
When, by God's grace, you see her, as you must, 
Tell her I loved her well, — and what beside 
I leave to you. I shall not hear the tale. 
Be gentle in the way of your report. 
Ah me ! by every cross a woman kneels ; 
I doubt not, Leonard, that some Syrian girl 
Sobbed where the thief hung dying. Now, 

good-by ! 
Go ! and remember — I shall hold you to it. 

[^Exit Vicary. 
Oft when the tides of life were at their full, 
I have sat wondering what the ebb would be. 
And what that tideless moment men call death. 
I think it strange as nears the coming hour, 
I willingly wotdd fetch it yet more near. 

Vicary (without^ as he goes on deck). He 
asks a smile where nature proffers tears. 
I have laughed tears before, and may again. 
Here dies a man who, like that heir of Lynne, 
Has madly squandered honour, friendship, love. 
And hath no refuge save the dismal rope. 
Shall that bring other fortunes than he spent ? 
Ah me ! I loved him well, — and I must smile ; — 



54 FRANCIS BBAKE 

That will seem strange to men, I sometimes 

wisli 
I could feel sure that Christ did ever smile. 

Enter Drake. 

Drake. I come to hear thy choice. 

Doughty. My choice is made. 

Death, and no long delay. And be not troubled ; 
You will — ah, well I know you — feel the hurt. 
Were you to say, " Take life, take hope again, 
Take back command," and bid me mend my 

ways. 
The mercy were but vanity of kindness. 
Never could I be other than I am ; 
Yet think of me as but the minute's traitor. 
You have been merciful. 'T is I am stern. 
Not you, but I, decree that I shall die. 
A sudden weariness of life is mine ; 
Let me depart in peace — 

Drake. Must it be so ? 

Another court may clear you. 

Doughty. Urge me not. 

Another court ! There is but one high court 
May clear my soul of guilt. I go to God. 
There shall be witnesses you may not call. 



FBANCIS BRAKE 55 

Let this suffice. No man can move me now; 
And rest assured I never loved you more. 

Drake. I thank you. Now, what else ? 

Doughty. I choose to die. 

Go we ashore at noon, and eat at table. 
Like gentlemen who speed a parting friend 
Upon a pleasant and a certain voyage. 
And I would share with you the bread of God. 

\_Pauses. 
There is one tiling more, but one ! 

Drake. Speak ! Oh, my God ! 

Except — except mere life, there is no thing 
I would not give you ; yea, to my own life. 

Doughty. You cannot think that I would 
ask my life ? 

Drake. Pardon, sweet gentleman, and sweeter 
friend. 

Doughty. There is a maid in Devon — Oh, 
Frank Drake ! 
It must not be the gibbet and the rope ! 
The axe and block, men say, cure all disgrace. 

Drake. So shall it be. 

Doughty. I knew you not unkind. 

I pray you leave me now. God prosper you. 
You cannot know how kind a thing is death. 



56 FRANCIS BRAKE 

Island of St. Julian. Table spread at noon, under 
the trees. Drake seated with Doughty and 
other officers. In the background, a block, vnth 
the headsman, sailors, and others. 

VicAEY and Winter ajjproach the table. 

Vicary. Didst hear, Jolm Winter, what he 

said to him ? 
Winter. I had but come ashore. What said 

he, Leonard? 
Vicary. First, he would have the admiral 
take the bread ; 
Then, when in turn the priest did come to 

him. 
He said, I would another man than you 
Were here to give me of this bread of God. 
Yet, as for this dear body of my Lord, 
A pearl that 's carried in a robber's pouch 
Doth lose no lustre ; and with no more words 
Took of the sacrament ; and so to table. 

[ They approach sadly and in silence. 

Doughty. Come, come, I '11 none of this ! 
Here are bent brows ; 
You go not thus to battle. Shall one death 



FEANCIS DBAKE 57 

Disinirb our appetites and spoil oiir mirth ? 
Am I uot host ? They *11 not be bid again 
Who come not merry. (_Aside to Vicary.') See 

you fail me not. 
Some men ask prayers. I only ask a smile. 
(^Aloud.^ Come, gentlemen, I put this hardship 

on you. 
There might be many questions, much to say. 

Bral-e. I shall sit here forever, if you ^^'ill, 
But talk I cannot. 

Doughty. Nay, but that is strange. 

'T is the glad privilege of the gentle born 
To see in death an honest creditor. 
That any day may ask the debt of life. 
What ! must I make the talk? That 's naughty 

manners. 
I never was a happier man than now. 
There 's few among you shall have choice of 

deaths. 
And you, Frank Drake? — if God should bid 

elect. 
What way to death wouldst choose ? 

Drahe. I ^^o not know — 

Not in my bed, please God. 

Doughty. Speak for him, Leonard. 



58 FEANCIS DRAKE 

I think my friend has shed his wits to-day. 
Once he was readier — 

Vicary. Were I Francis Drake, 

When waves are wild and fly the bolts of war, 
And timbers crash, and decks are bloody red, 
Then would I pass, slain by my loving sea, 
As died the hurt Greek by a friendly sword. 
Doughty. Full bravely answered. Winter, 

what of you ? 
Winter. As God may wiU. I have no other 

thought. 
Doughty (to Vicary'). And what, dear jester, 

Leonard, what of you ? 
Vicary. Oh, between kisses, of a morn of 
May, 
Or in the merriest moment of a fight. 
When blades are out, and the brave Dons stand 

fast — 
Upon my soul, I can no more of this. 
You ask too much of man. I can no more ! 

\_Leaves the table. 

Doughty. Now here 's a dull companion. Go 

not yet, — 

Or go not far, and let not sorrow cheat me. 

Vicary. Oh, I shall smile. Rest you assured 

of that. IMoves away. 



FEANCIS DRAKE 59 

Doughty. I tliouglit he had been made of 
sterner stuff. 
There 's a too gentle jester. ( To Drake.') Think 

you, Frank, 
That we shall meet in heaven ? 

Drake. Such is my trust. 

[ They talk in whispers. 

Doughty (^aloud'). The wind lies fair to 

south. Friends, gentles, all, 

It were not well to lose a prospering hour. 

God send you kindly gales and gallant ventures ! 

Strike hard for me, John Winter ! When the 

Dons 
Are thick about you and the fight goes ill. 
Cry, This is for remembrance ! This, and this ! 
And you, dear Leonard, when the feast is gay 
Drink double for your friend. Be sure my lips 
Shall share with yours the laughter and the cup. 

[Rises, as do all. 

Now, then : The Queen and England ! (^Drinks.) 

(JIo Drake.) Take my love. 
Still let me live a friendly memory — 
Come with me. 

Drake. No, I cannot, cannot come ! 

\_Moves away. 



60 FRANCIS BBAKE 

Doughty (to Vicary, as they walk to the 
block.') What, not a smile ? Not one ? 
That 's better, Leonard, 
Albeit of a rather sickly sort. 
Come hither, Francis Drake. (Drake ap- 
proaches.) Good-by, dear friend. 
\_Kisses him on both cheeks. Kneels, and the axe falls. 
Vicary. God rest this soul ! 
Winter. Amen ! 

Drake. Christ comfort me ! 



lis 
















s^** V 



,^^ 






<j 






.^^. 






:.♦' 



C"^' 

'.^ ^ 



K*" #"\ WW^ 






^ 






^^ ^i^p^^ 






"-'„, '^* » .: = ""^ 












O 






■^. 












• ■^ /.■ ^^. 








-' 






^^ 


-y^ 




"^ti. 


** «o' 



M 







^ 



.^'^r 

.-.■f 



'./vC.- 










'*" "^ .i^ 

















^- *-/ '^= %/' •^'' s^^ =t« 










-S 









9- <J*v 




o 

" aP ^. "^ ^ % ^ ^° ^^ 






;-,ry. ?^, '-^ 
















"*'' ' '" ''BJ-ili-LUSlj"' ' "' 




I 
f i 









-! ' ijar 






fliiliiliillBiiiiiiii 
i|!iiliiii|i||iililliif 



^1 iliJ 




ItiiiiiiSiifliiiiliitlliiliiliS ' 

ilil^iiiliplilliiiliilllplllll^ 








